


When in MACUSA

by superagentwolf



Series: With Religious Fervor [12]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: 80s Music References, Credence Barebone is a Cinnamon Roll, Ficlet Collection, Fluff and Smut, Graves is a Hopeless Softie, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Post-Grindelwald
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-16 23:01:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9293462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/superagentwolf
Summary: Things come to a head with Credence and Graves. They make a decision, and really, it's the best they've ever made. For better or for worse, their relationship is the talk of the office. Luckily they've got some fantastic friends looking after them.-Or, the final story in which their relationship unintentionally starts to mirror 80s prom songs.





	1. Promise

It happens, like most things, slowly.

The realization is what’s sudden.

He has noticed in pieces what he already knows. He knows Credence, despite all his suffering and pain, is perfect. Perfect not because he is whole and flawless; perfect because of his scars and worries and hopes and dreams.

He knows he wouldn’t let anyone else live with him. Sure, Robert is likely the closest thing he has to a best friend, but the man ultimately requires space- and up until recently, Graves had, too. It was the move to let Credence in- the suggestion to let him stay- that had changed his mind. Before, he’d wanted to keep his home a solitary space. A sanctuary. He’d even been uneasy at first, unsure of how to make a space for the newcomer.

He hadn’t needed to, though.

Somehow, there had always been a Credence-sized space in his life. Not a whole piece; just little bits here and there, the way he’d always been a little lost, like trying to stir a pot and run the tap at the same time. Now there is another person, running the tap and passing him a spoon to taste the spaghetti sauce- _try it, it’s good, I added oregano_.

So he’s known, for a while, that he loves Credence. And he’s known for a while that he wouldn’t be able to handle something happening to either of them.

But it’s when he’s climbing into bed at night- a Friday- full with wine, back a little bruised, warm from the hot bath, that he stops and takes stock of what he sees.

The pale skin, a little less translucent because Credence likes being outside, walking. Dark hair, still cut the same, freshly washed and shining. The soft pajamas, Graves’, because Credence had unabashedly said _I like smelling like you_ and that’s where the bruises had come from. After Graves had pushed and Credence had pushed back, giving as good as he got.

_I want to marry him,_ Graves thinks.

He’s not an idiot. It’s the late 1920s; he knows what people think of men like him. Them. He knows, legally, there is simply no way.

But marriage- or at least the promise it entails- is not a law. Or at least not a written one. To him, it a law of the heart.

And he knows, whether he intended it or not, that his heart has already been taken.

* * *

Credence wakes up and Graves is gone, an apologetic note left on the pillow.

_Picquery has some last-minute business with me. I didn’t want to wake you. Sleep in; I’ll be home soon._

_\- P_

He smiles at the handwriting. Typewriter-perfect but for the curvature to the letters, betraying a careful but hurried hand. He thinks perhaps he’ll keep it, store it away to look at one day when Graves is off working and he’s home alone.

It’s hard for him to get back to sleep once he’s awake so he gets dressed, taking one of Graves’ ties because he likes the color, and decides to go to town. There are things he wants to get for dinner and he suspects Picquery will keep Graves for at least a few hours.

“No rest for the wicked,” he murmurs to the empty apartment, taking his hat as he leaves.

* * *

“Oh, dear. You really haven’t thought this through, have you?”

Robert looks amused and a little sorry. Graves feels his face grow warmer.

“I…I only just…,”

“…you only _just_ noticed? Please, don’t tell me you-,” Robert starts, looking like he’s waiting to laugh with Graves, but when there’s no laughter his eyes practically fall out of his head. “ _Graves_ , my _dear, idiot_ friend, how have you _not_ -,”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t realize I loved him,” Graves argues, flushing deeper, and he’s glad no one else is around.

“My poor, dear man,” Robert sighs, rubbing his face with gloved hands.

He’d been about to leave for lunch when Graves had run into MACUSA, pleading an audience.

“I know _where_ ,” Graves tries to explain, “it’s just- I don’t…”

“You know how,” Robert smiles, resigned and fond. “Planning that part won’t make it any better. In fact, it may make it worse,” he chuckles.

“So what do I do, then? Just take him?”

Robert wrinkles his nose at the phrasing and Graves rolls his eyes. _Honestly? **That’s** what he’s disturbed by?_

“You’re not barbarians, Val. _Do_ put some thought into _how_ you’ll get him there. But yes…when you do have him…wherever it is you want him, the point is to speak from the heart. Certainly not from another man’s mouth,” he berates, rising.

“I wouldn’t have used your exact words,” Graves grumbles, following Robert out.

“No,” Robert smiles, waving him closer. “but I’ll assume you haven’t thought about a ring yet. _That_ , you can use me for.”

* * *

He pockets the ring, smiling to himself, and Robert snorts at him.

“You’re disgustingly pleased. I can’t even imagine what you’ll be like _after_.”

“No need for jealousy,” Graves teases good-naturedly. “I’m sure you’ll get an answer before you’re an old maid.”

“God, you’re insufferable. I hope he knows what he’s getting into. Here- what have you planned for getting him there?”

Graves pauses, uneasy. _What will I do? It’s not exactly close to home, and I would never fake an incident. It would be cruel._ He’s still thinking when Robert sighs, pulling him to the side of the busy street.

“Listen. Where is it you’re planning to take him?”

“…the old tea shop on the edge of town. With the garden in the back.”

“…all right. Has he been before?”

“Yes. When I left the hospital. We had tea,” Graves smiles, remembering.

_Why are you here?_

“What kind of tea?”

“Marion’s. My blend,” he explains, thinking. _How do I use tea to get him there?_

“All right. Time to get some tea,” Robert grins, slapping his shoulder.

* * *

He makes a quick trip to the tailor’s, checking to make sure the winter coats are ordered. _It’ll be a cold one,_ Graves had said, watching the window. _And you’ll need something heavy._ The shop is nearly empty, and it doesn’t take long, so he considers where to go next.

_Dinner,_ he thinks. _I’ll make something. And we’re nearly out of tea._

He’s always prided himself on being methodical. Strategic.

He enjoys errands. They’re almost calming; he can plan his entire day and simply move about the city, doing things, forgetting what’s on his mind as he checks items off his list.

_Tea, then groceries,_ he thinks.

It’s a plan.

Somewhere above him, a raven makes a soft noise. He smiles, thinking to himself about Bertrand and Robert.

_We should have them over sometime._

* * *

“It’ll just be a moment, dear,” the woman at the counter says, smiling. “it seems she didn’t get a chance to mix extra after you last came in.”

“Of course,” Graves smiles, glancing around the aisles.

The door chimes and he turns a little, starting when he sees who it is.

“Bertrand.”

The man looks confused for a moment, then understanding. It’s an odd reaction.

“Graves. Good to see you. Credence is on his way over, I think.”

Graves freezes, hand in midair before one of the shelves. Behind him, Robert suddenly appears.

“Graves, what do you think of- oh, Bert.”

“Rob- aren’t you working today?”

“Oh, yes, but-,” Robert starts, smile stretching, and Graves suddenly snaps back to reality.

_This is bad,_ he thinks, panicking. _Very bad._

“Credence is coming,” Graves hisses, grabbing Robert’s sleeve.

Robert, blessed man that he is, somehow knows exactly what to do.

“Hide. As close to the front door as you can get, somewhere behind the boxes. Bert, I need you to listen very carefully. When Credence leaves, go out the back and fly the tea to my office.”

“What tea-?” Bertrand begins, confused, and Robert waves him away.

“Never mind- I’m going to tell her- _wait_ here,” he says, distracted, almost running to the front.

Graves only feels halfway sorry for Bertrand- who, to his credit, remains in the _exact same spot_ until Robert returns.

“ _Do not tell him we were here,_ ” Robert emphasizes, and then he reaches to his side and picks up several large boxes of tea, shoving them into Bertrand’s arms.

Graves has to stifle his laughter when Robert runs around the shop, hiding, and then the door bells chime.

* * *

_Tea,_ he thinks to himself. _Something with pineapple, maybe?_

He’s turning a corner in the tiny shop when he almost runs into a man carrying a stack of boxes.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, apologizing, and then he recognizes the dark hair peeking over the top. “…Bertrand?”

“Credence,” the man says, voice muffled, and he turns to set the boxes down. “it’s nice to see you.”

The man is a bit flushed and harried. _What are all those boxes for?_

“Um…good tea?”

“What? Oh-,” Bertrand says, blinking. “Robert- he-,”

“Oh,” Credence says quickly, trying to stop the blush he can feel spreading across his cheeks. “Yes. Um. I just- I’m looking for something. For dinner,” he adds uselessly.

Behind him, the door chimes.

_Lucky,_ he thinks. _What I wouldn’t give to leave my own awkward conversations._

But Bertrand is smiling, looking a little pleased, and he lets it slide. _Once he relaxes, I can see why Robert trusts him. He’s almost as easy to talk to._

“Why don’t I help you?”

* * *

Bertrand hops onto his desk, setting the box down, and Robert grins.

He pauses to run his fingers across the bird’s head and Graves has to wonder whether Robert wouldn’t be a raven, too.

_Huginn and Muninn,_ he thinks. _Odin’s messengers._

“Well, there’s your tea,” Robert says, sliding the box over. “and you have the ring.”

The raven _quorks_ , hopping, wings flapping, and Robert’s snorting laughter makes Graves chuckle.

“Thank you,” he says, to the both of them- and with a wink, “we’ll see you at work.”

* * *

He’s just through the door, ready to lay down his things, and he sees a scrap of paper on the table. It amuses him at first- the handwritten communication. Inside, however, there’s a seed of worry. _What if Picquery is sending him away again?_

There are only two words on it.

_Meet me._

* * *

 

It’s a bit cold but he’s not bothered.

The air itself is static; it’s the same buzz he’d felt the first time he’d used his wand. The magic he can feel sometimes, calling him. Asking him to leave his body.

He can still hear it. Now, though, he can choose not to answer it. The rage and pain are gone, replaced by something steady and sure.

_He helped me get here,_ he thinks, and he can’t help smiling as he reaches the gate. It’s climbing with ivy, despite the cold, and he wonders if it’s Graves’ doing. If the man keeps it this way, eternally, like their sanctuary.

Something flowery wafts towards him and he almost cries, memory and sense swarming back to him in a rush of emotion. He can remember before, in his ragged jacket and worn soul, feet moving uneasily towards the only point of comfort in his broken life.

Now, walking down the stone path, it feels worn-in. Safe. Almost like home.

“Graves,” he says, smiling. Playing the game.

He’s not sure why there here. He’s sure it special and he thinks it’s important, though, so he allows things to play out. Remembers the conversation, distantly, like muscle memory.

“I called,” the man says, slowly, a little mesmerized.

He’s sitting at the same table with purple flowers. Clean- probably something he’d done- and turned just a little to face the gate. The roses are strangely in full bloom, faces turned towards the moon.

“I answered,” Credence says, smiling.

_I’ll always be listening. I’ll always answer._

He takes the empty seat, looking down at the tea, and he smiles when the cup warms his hands. It smells familiar, flowery, and he knows it’s Graves’ blend. _Something special,_ the man had said one afternoon, smiling around his teacup. _It’s a secret._

“…why are we here?” Credence asks, careful.

Somehow he feels like this moment is glass. A little fragile. Beautiful.

“It was a safe place. For me. For us,” he adds, watching.

“Places are places,” Credence says, feeling his heart speed up. “but _we_ are home. Here,” he explains, and he tries to ignore the way his hand shakes when he places it against Graves’ chest.

“…yes,” Graves says, as if he’s realizing something- or maybe reaffirming. “and I don’t need a place to make me feel safe anymore. Home. I only need you.”

Credence almost can’t breathe, swallowing past something in his throat- _his heart?_ – as he tries to answer. He’s known, how can he not, that Graves loves him. He’s told the man _I love you_ , over and over, a thousand ways. To hear it, though, always makes him fall in love over again.

Again and again, in different words and ways. In the way Graves had given Credence a new pair of gloves- _your hands are always cold_ \- and the way he’d let Credence take the lead even after the first time- _tell me what you want, I don’t want to hurt you_.

It may be a prelude to him leaving for an assignment, or even a simple dinner date, but whatever the case Credence doesn’t care. Because they are together, in the moment, and he feels loved.

“You’ll always have me,” he says, trying to ignore the way his eyes are threatening to betray him. “and you’ll always have a home.”

Graves moves around the table, careful, and Credence tilts his head up, ready.

And then the man kneels, hands on Credence’s knees.

_Oh,_ Credence thinks, blinking, and he willingly leans down, unquestioning. He is not afraid to give. He is not afraid of his power anymore.

Their kiss is a sigh they’ve been holding in, luxurious and slow, and Credence can only think _I feel at home._

“…I want to make you a promise,” Graves says quietly, moving back, and he reaches into his pocket.

Credence freezes.

_Is that-_ he starts to think, and then the box is opened and he loses the ability to think coherently. All he can see is Graves, hopeful and worried, more nervous than he’s ever looked before, and the silver ring glinting.

_A ring._

“I want to be with you, Credence. Until something takes me beyond the veil. And I will fight that something, with every breath, whether it comes for me or you. Because I would die for you- but I want to _live_ with you.”

He can feel the tears spilling, traitorous things, but he isn’t angry. He isn’t anywhere near angry.

He is beyond himself, beside himself, joy and pride and excitement and _love_ overtaking everything else in his body and mind.

“Yes,” he says, because there is nothing more that he could ever want or dream of. “and I promise I will never leave you. We will be _together_. Until and after.”

He smiles when Graves slips the ring on his finger, cool and silver like the moonlight. It winks at him brightly, and he almost laughs when he sees the flowers on the band.

“I love you,” Graves says quietly, and Credence pulls him up from the ground, still smiling because _he can’t stop_.

“I love you,” he breathes, and he seals the promise with a kiss.


	2. Stripped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their functioning honeymoon, as it is, occurs when they return home.

There is an old saying, he thinks, _you want what you can’t have_.

Somehow, he feels as if Graves is setting out to prove it wrong.

He has thought about this- something _like_ this, really, because he had never expected this kind of open commitment.

_A ring,_ he thinks, inordinately pleased.

Any time he’d considered it, though, he’d been curious. _Will it still be the same? Will he still look after me as if I’ll leave at any moment? As if I could disappear? Will he take my hand in the evening and lead me somewhere I don’t know with a pleased smile?_

So it seems that Graves _will_ be the same- or really, more.

They are barely inside before the man crowds Credence against the closed door, mouth roaming his body as if he’s searching for some hidden secret. Credence is stunned breathless, blinking as his brain tries to catch up to his body.

Graves bites at his neck and he gasps, half laughing, trying to twist closer even as warm hands hold his wrists against the door.

“Graves-,” he breathes, turning his head, allowing more access, “-what- what’s wrong-,”

“Not wrong,” Graves corrects, rough, and his kisses fall with bruising force. “ _Right._ ”

Credence is at a loss.

He can’t think of anything to say so he responds instead, playfully wrestling for control, pushing one knee between the man’s legs where it presents a question and a challenge.

The answering growl makes Credence smile, a thumb ghosting suggestively over Graves’ throat.

“Time for the famous Mr. Graves to test his strength,” he says, leaning closer. “I wonder how well he’ll do under pressure?”

* * *

_He’ll be the death of me,_ Graves thinks happily, and then he twists, apparating into the bedroom. He’s too impatient to walk- even the short distance seems like miles with Credence doing his best to wrap around him.

The damned boy is _laughing_ and Graves chuckles with him, planning, gently tossing them onto the sheets.

“You’re insufferably pleased with yourself,” he says, biting at an ear, “for not having won yet.”

“I won,” Credence argues, laughing and breathless, and Graves thinks _I could hear him like this forever._ “I have the ring to prove it.”

He’ll be damned if that isn’t the best thing he’s ever heard.

He wonders to himself _what would he look like with nothing but the ring on,_ and then he decides there is no time like the present.

He’s not even a little sorry when he hears a button hit the dresser, a small _ping_ echoing somewhere among the gasps and delighted moans. If he uses magic to help him along, it’s only because wandless magic is second nature to him in times of need.

And he _needs_ Credence undressed.

Luckily, Credence decides to help, slipping out of his clothes as soon as they’re loosened enough. Graves finds himself transfixed again, as if he’s seeing the other for the first time- and perhaps he is. The first time _after_.

Before and after. There are two now, and they’re no longer marked by a dark wizard.

It is the ring, twinkling in the dim room, a star on Credence’s finger as he throws an arm over his head, head tilting back.

His throat is a road that Graves takes, marking his way as he goes, infinitely pleased that Credence is open and trusting.

That he feels safe enough to challenge him.

_Equals._

* * *

Graves, to his credit, is single-minded even in the bedroom.

It might be overwhelming, Credence thinks, the way the man seems to carry the world along with him like a comet. It isn’t, though- at least not to him.

He enjoys the pull, the hurricane force that is Graves, and he wonders if it is him or the remnants of the Obscurial that make him feel this way.

The ring is cool on his finger but he expects it to warm as they move, bodies feeding into each other’s heat, the dark bedroom seeming to enclose them.

“ _Beautiful,_ ” Graves says, voice rough, and Credence breathes into the man’s mouth as it descends.

The hands on his skin explore as if they’re charting a map. Credence wiggles, pleased, trying to maneuver himself closer. Graves seems absorbed in his work, so he takes the chance to do some undressing. The buttons slip beneath his fingers, cool and smooth.

_This is a challenge, after all,_ Credence thinks with a smile.

He’s a little torn between playing dirty- having fun- and letting himself get pulled along. _That’s no fun, though,_ he thinks, and he decides it’s better to challenge things. _Besides_ , he thinks, _he’s going too fast. At this rate, we won’t enjoy it nearly as much…_

So he waits until Graves moves his hands to either side of his body, balancing, and he wraps his fingers around the wrists by his head.

Graves pauses, questioning, and Credence watches him. He doesn’t break eye contact, preferring to wait for a reaction as he charms the man’s hands in place.

“Credence,” Graves says, low and a little warning.

It’s not threatening, though. It’s more of a question. _Are you sure? You don’t know what will happen._

“You won’t hurt me,” Credence reminds him, sealing it with a kiss. “besides…I’m not helpless.”

“…no,” Graves agrees, huffing out a laugh. “You’ve never been helpless.”

_Time to make things interesting._

He slides himself up the bed, moving out from between Graves’ arms, and watches the man’s expression change. It’s easy enough to lean against the head of the bed, reclining against pillows, and he watches Graves with a smug smile.

“I hope you’re feeling appreciative,” Credence says, raising an eyebrow, crossing a leg.

He moves his knee, letting it rest beneath Graves’ chin, and waits.

The man growls a little and he feels a seed of triumph.

“What do you want me to say? Do you want me to beg?”

And doesn’t he sound _interested_.

Credence feels a flush spreading up his neck and he is a little transfixed, smile faltering as he stares at the dark eyes before him.

“Oh, you _do_ , don’t you? You’d like me to plead,” Graves laughs.

Credence blinks lazily, focusing.

“You’re welcome to _try_ ,” Credence smirks, crossing an arm over his chest, chin in hand.

Graves smirks, settling onto his forearms, and as he clasps his hands he stares at Credence.

“…you know, when I told Robert, he said I hadn’t thought things through.”

“Did he?”

“He thought I’d make a mess of things by overthinking it,” Graves adds, eyes twinkling.

Credence laughs. _He would say something like that._

“I was worried. But I saw you…,”

“…and?”

“And I knew,” the man says, smile stretching lazily. “I knew when you walked in and your blush was red as the roses.”

“…roses. Better, but predictable,” Credence says, biting back a laugh. “Go on.”

“Flowers, I thought. But flowers get bruised. They’re fragile. So not flowers, then…”

_Where is he going with this,_ Credence wonders, but he’s intrigued. Graves is taking his time, wandering in thought, and if he wasn’t naked he’d think they were having any other conversation.

“…so I thought, and I couldn’t come up with anything, so I thought _he is no one thing_. He is many things.”

“What am I?”

_What am I to you?_ It’s a question he’s never asked. He knows he is loved, but he has never quite seen himself through Graves. He doesn’t know what the man thinks of him; what his mirror reflects. So he wonders, because he’s still a little in awe of how Graves would choose to make a promise as heavy as the one they’ve just made.

“Beautiful. Like ceramic,” Graves says. “Strong. Long…and stretched, but not too thin, just slim. Perfectly,” he adds, laughing darkly.

Credence is getting warmer and then Graves turns his chin where it rests on Credence’s knee, breathing against the sensitive bend.

“Paper-pale, _waiting_ to be written on,” he says, and then he _bites_ and Credence chokes on a laugh, “but inky and black and prepared to _bite back_ …”

_Is that what I am?_ He isn’t sure, too distracted by the soft spot beneath his knee he didn’t know existed and how strange it feels to have attention there.

“Full of contradictions,” Graves sighs, mouth closing around the stinging spot, “a storm, a force of nature, _beautiful_.”

“Flatterer,” Credence manages, and then Graves breaks the charm and lunges forward.

* * *

_What a minx,_ Graves thinks, pleased as he pins Credence against the sheets.

If he’s honest, he really enjoys words. Pretty speeches and poetry. Robert had accused him of being a romantic when they were in school and _he was right_ because all Graves can think is that Credence is more beautiful than the Lady in her boat, a more fitting subject in his escape from captivity on a lake dotted with fallen flowers.

Credence floats on the deep blue silk and Graves kisses him as if he is saving him from drowning.

“ _Mine_ ,” he murmurs, unable to help himself.

“Mine,” Credence echoes, biting into Graves’ shoulder.

The pain is small, sweet, and Graves leans down into the body beneath him. He wonders for a fleeting moment, _was that all he had to challenge me with?_

And Credence, as if reading his mind, smiles up at him like a wolf.

In a second- it is too quick to realize- Graves is on his back, breathless, and it reminds him just how deceptive Credence’s slight frame is.

“That’s my boy,” he laughs, hands moving to hold the pale waist above him.

Except his wrists are suddenly captured again, Credence’s thin fingers grasping in a vice. He lets it happen, curious, because he’s not sure how far the boy is willing to go- and then something is wrapped around his wrists, pulling, and he can’t drop his arms from where they’re secured above his head.

“I wonder…,” Credence starts, testing, and Graves bites his tongue when he feels the body straddling him shift. “…what’s your endurance like, Mr. Graves?”

“Am I at work?” Graves asks, and his laugh turns into a groan.

_If he would only stop moving,_ he thinks, but then he realizes _I would hate it._

“Oh, no. It’s _my_ turn to work,” Credence laughs, rocking easily, and Graves desperately wants his clothes to be _gone_.

“First day on the job,” Graves says, “and already I know you’re a keeper.”

He pulls against the tie on his wrists- he thinks it’s a tie; it feels right- and tries to arch closer, twisting.

“No, no,” Credence says, “no moving yet. This must be frustrating for you.”

_He knows what he’s doing,_ Graves thinks, amused, and he waits for Credence to continue. It is all he can do to wait- and he finds himself thinking _this is what it feels like, waiting,_ and it is glorious torture. He is breathless, anticipating, yearning for something just beyond his reach.

“Let’s see- _one_ white shirt,” Credence announces, tracing the buttons of Graves’ open shirt. “and…one belt, leather, blacker than sin.”

“How appropriate,” Graves says, grinning, and Credence is slow to remove the items.

He is meticulous, folding the shirt and curling the belt with medical precision. It is purposeful, Graves knows, and the spectacle of it all makes him extremely pleased. Their bed is a stage and he is all too happy to sit back and watch Credence perform, in total control.

“Pants…ironed to perfection, black, and a theme becomes apparent.”

Graves bites his lip, fighting the urge to move, and Credence watches him with mischievous eyes as he slowly unbuttons the trousers. His hands are careful and slow and Graves watches him, transfixed.

_Slow as sin,_ he thinks, _but sweeter than the devil._

“As for undergarments-,”

“ _Move_ ,” Graves says, growling the word, and he pushes his head back into the bed.

He is damnably untouched and Credence pauses, lips twisting.

“What was that, sir? I don’t quite understand. _Explain_ ,” he says, drawing the word out, “what you want. _Tell me._ ”

Graves is naked then, shuddering, desperate for some sort of contact. The air is useless against his skin and he breathes heavily, blinking in the dim room, Credence a pale ghost against him.

“I _want_ you,” he says, “however you _want_. I _want_ you to do as you please. Just so long as you _move_.”

“Yes, sir,” Credence smiles, leaning over him, and their kiss is a mess of teeth and tongue.

He is still restrained when Credence moves, hips snapping in a seamless rhythm, shameless in the dark of the bedroom. A cry rips itself from his lungs, torn, and the sudden motion is so unexpected that he can’t quite comprehend what is happening.

Credence moves away, body hot and dragging, and Graves huffs out a ragged breath, wanting to say _come back_ until he feels hands against his hips, fingers splayed like feathers. He is only getting used to the feeling when he rises, startled, back arching against the bed when he feels something warm.

Graves is barely able to look, moving his head just so, and all he can see is Credence with his mouth full, dark eyelashes fanning against his flushed cheeks- it is _obscene_ in the best possible way.

“Yes- _ah_ \- yes, Credence, wonderful, you’re _perfect_ ,” he says, a nonsense prayer strung on choked breath and the intoxicating view before him.

He tries not to wonder what it tastes like- what _Credence_ thinks it tastes like- but even trying makes it worse and soon he’s too absorbed to concentrate on keeping himself propped up enough to see. He can _hear_ the noises, wet and luscious, smacking suggestively.

It damn near kills him.

* * *

_Oh,_ Credence thinks, watching Graves’ body strain.

He’s not sure how things got here- can’t quite think at all, mostly because he’s too busy trying to figure out just what it is Graves tastes of.

_Salt,_ he thinks, _and skin,_ but there’s something else. So many somethings, really, and it is rich in his mouth. He is secretly grateful for Graves’ patience; he has never done anything approaching this before- has only really seen Graves do it, and _that is quite the show_ \- but he thinks he’s doing well.

At least, Graves seems to be enjoying it.

The man is incoherent and Credence is secretly proud but he can feel his own need, driving, and he think _drawing out his need draws out mine_ , so it is with a final flourish that he leaves, swallowing, to finish what he’s started.

“You wonderful, terrible boy,” Graves laughs, breathless.

Credence smiles, pausing to take in the sight. He’s a little taken with the way Graves’ hair is messy against the sheets, freckles evident under his deep blush. He thinks it makes the man seem younger, somehow- roguish, in a way.

He looks _happy_ and Credence is glowing with pride at having made him that way. He bends down, tilting his head ever so slightly, and Graves is sweet when they kiss.

“Together, now,” Credence murmurs, moving away, and he settles onto Graves with a practiced hand.

He thinks they both sigh when the moment comes- it is pure relief, anticipation giving way to what feels _right._

_Right,_ he thinks. It describes them, he thinks- everything about them, now.

_I will never get used to the feel of him,_ he thinks, _and I don’t want to_.

It is indescribable warmth, some puzzle piece fitting into a space he’d never considered before, and it is comforting in a way he can’t quite categorize. He thinks, once again, that they are at home in one another- and this, in one way, is how they find home.

“My beautiful boy,” Graves sighs, watching, and Credence feels the pleasure in his stomach warm.

He moves slowly first, drawing it out a little longer, wanting to savor the moment. _Is that me?_ He wonders when he hears the small moans, heady with pleasure.

“That’s it, Credence,” Graves says, his voice floating in and out of Credence’s ears, “ _sing_ for me.”

* * *

Credence's noises are musical and Graves wants to record them, listen over and over again.

There is no longer anything else.

They are connected and Graves feels complete, his pleasure extending to include the body rocking above him.

_Credence._

He is beautiful, some strange angel, unmarked and practically glowing in the night. Graves wonders distantly at the sight- _if they had seen, before, what would they have done? With his power? His beauty?_

Credence is moving faster and his breath is ragged so Graves shifts, pulling himself up as much as he can.

“Let me touch you,” he says, voice rough, and Credence’s eyes barely focus as they open.

“ _Please,_ ” the boy says, lost, and Graves breaks his wrists away from the bed.

_Finally,_ he thinks, another wave of relief taking him, and one hand reaches for Credence- just below the tempting plane of his stomach- the other exploring a heaving chest.

He can’t quite look away from the way Credence moves and he thinks _how did he learn to move like that_ because it is fluid and perfect, just like everything else about him. Credence is heavy in hand and Graves can’t distinguish between them, touch and pleasure bleeding into one reckless sensation.

It is startling when it comes, their supernova striking with so much force Graves wonders if their bodies have broken in the impact. He is surrounded by their scream, one voice twisted from two mouths before Credence falls to connect them in a silent promise.

“I love you,” Credence whispers, breathing still fast from exertion.

Graves turns his head into the boy’s neck, breathing in, and he moves his hands slowly along Credence’s back.

“I love you,” he replies, at peace, complete.

_Promise._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while and I'm sorry for that. I wanted to do them- and this story- and you all justice, so I waited. Funnily enough, I ended up writing the majority of this at work (while continually looking over my shoulder). Anyhow, I hope you enjoy. Magical Suicide Squad is still up and going strong...and I am in the process of working on an Alternate Universe story!

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe myself. I am a piece of 90s-born, 80s-music-loving trash. God. Anyways, I hope this lived up to expectations...and this is really it. From here, I'll close out some silly shenanigans (and a honeymoon, perhaps?) while also filling up the Magical Suicide Squad side story.  
> Oh, and I TOTALLY want the whole team to get 'Fantastic Friends' shirts. I need a picture of them in those.


End file.
